The sun beat down on the golden sands of Rajasthan, but inside the Chauhan's household, the air was heavy with a familiar, suffocating silence.

Eshmita sat at the small wooden desk, her fingers trembling as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She was sixteen, with eyes that held the innocence of a fawn and a heart that beat in rhythm with the prayers her mother whispered every morning.

"Eshmita! Are you ready, beta?" her mother's voice called out softly.

Eshmita looked up as her mother, Meera, entered the room. Meera's face was lined with a weariness that only a woman in a house of stone cold men could understand.

"I'm scared, Ma," Eshmita whispered, her voice barely audible. "The board exams... what if I don't do well?"

Meera sat beside her, taking Eshmita's cold hands into her warm, calloused ones. "You have worked so hard. Devi Ma is watching over you. You are my most precious daughter, Eshmita. My only prayer."

The door slammed open, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Eshmita flinched, her shoulders hunching instinctively.

Her father stood in the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor. He didn't look at Eshmita. He never really looked at any of his four daughters. To him, they were just mouths to feed, unanswered prayers for the son he never had.

"Is she still sitting here?" he barked, looking at Meera. "The car is waiting. Send her to the center and be done with it."

"She's just nervous,hukam sa," Meera said quietly, standing up.

"Nervous for what? A certificate that will sit in a drawer until we marry her off?" He sneered, finally casting a dismissive glance at Eshmita. "Don't waste time. Get out."

Eshmita stood up quickly, grabbing her hall ticket with shaking hands. She didn't say a word. In this house, silence was the only safety.

The School Gate

Three hours later, the final bell rang. Eshmita walked out of the exam hall, the weight of the 10th boards finally lifting from her chest. She stood by the large iron gates, her eyes searching the crowd of parents and rickshaws.

"Ma said she would come today," Eshmita murmured to herself, clutching her geometry box.

She stayed close to the wall. The world outside her home felt loud, chaotic, and terrifying. Every time a stranger walked too close, she took a step back, her heart racing.

Suddenly, a familiar white car pulled up. A man stepped out, a wide, bright smile on his face.

"Eshmita! Over here, beti!"

Eshmita's face lit up. "Mama?"

It was her maternal uncle, her mother's own brother. He was the one person besides her mother who always brought her sweets and spoke to her with a gentle voice.

"Where is Ma?" she asked, walking toward him, though she remained a few feet away, her natural shyness holding her back.

"Your mother is busy with the puja for your exams," her Mama said, opening the back door of the car. "She sent me to fetch you. We're going to celebrate! I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? But Papa says I should come straight home."

"Don't worry about your father today," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I've already spoken to him. Today is for my favorite niece. Come, get in. It's a long drive to the temple."

Eshmita hesitated for a split second. She didn't know the roads, and she had never been anywhere without her mother. But this was Mama. He was family. He was safe.

"Okay," she whispered, stepping into the car. "But Ma will be waiting, right?"

"She's waiting, Eshmita," her uncle said, his eyes catching hers in the rearview mirror as he put the car in gear. "She's waiting for a miracle."

He turned away, a strange, cold sharpness flickering in his gaze that Eshmita was too innocent to understand. As the school disappeared behind them, she watched the familiar buildings fade away, replaced by roads she didn't recognize.

"Mama, this isn't the way to the temple," she said after a while, her voice small.

"It's a shortcut, beta," he replied, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Just close your eyes and rest. When you wake up, you'll be exactly where you need to be."

Eshmita leaned her head against the window, watching the sun set over the horizon, unaware that the light of her world was about to go dark.

The car slowed to a crawl as it entered a narrow, suffocating lane. The air here didn't smell like the desert sand or her mother's incense, it smelled of cheap perfume, rotting garbage, and something metallic.

Eshmita's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She stepped out of the car, her legs wobbling. She immediately grabbed a handful of her Mama's kurta, clutching the fabric until her knuckles turned white.

"Mama..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Yeh... yeh kaisi jagah hai?"

Everywhere she looked, the world felt wrong. Women stood in doorways, their faces painted with thick, garish layers of makeup that looked like masks. They wore clothes that made Eshmita flush with shame, glittering sarees draped loosely, shoulders bare, eyes rimmed with heavy kohl that looked like charcoal. They weren't like the aunties at the temple. They didn't look like her Ma.

A heavy-set woman with a large gold nose ring and eyes as cold as glass stepped forward. This was Amma. She looked Eshmita up and down, a predatory smile spreading across her face.

"Kamsin kali hai," Amma hissed, her voice like sandpaper. "Aur suddh bhi. You did well, Suresh."

Eshmita's grip on the kurta tightened so hard the fabric began to tear. "Mama, chalo na. Hame yaha nahi rehna. Bohot ajeeb si jagah hai yeh. Ghar chalte hai, please."

Her uncle didn't look at her. He didn't even pat her head. He pryed her small, shaking fingers off his sleeve, one by one.

"Mama?" she gasped, her eyes filling with hot, stinging tears. "Mama, aap... aap kahan ja rhe ho?"

He finally looked at her, but the kindness she had known all her life was gone. There was only a hollow, pathetic guilt in his eyes.

"Beti... mujhe maaf kardena," he stammered, stepping back toward the car. "Par mai apna karj ada nahi kar paya. Yeh log... yeh log paise mang rahe the. Mai apni sagi beti ko toh nahi de sakta tha na? Isliye..."

He swallowed hard, looking away. "Yahi taqdeer hai tumhari. Yahi tumhara naseeb hai."

The world seemed to tilt. Eshmita lunged for him, her hands clawing at the air as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Mama! Nahi! Please, Mamaaaaa!" she screamed, a sound of pure, raw agony. She ran toward the car window, banging her small fists against the glass. "Mujhe Maa ke pass jana hai! Mama, mujhe ghar le jao! Mai kisi se kuch nahi kahungi, mai kabhi kisi chiz ke liye jidd bhi nahi karungi Mamaaaa!"

The engine roared to life.

"MAMAAAAAA!"

The car pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Eshmita fell to her knees in the dirt, her school skirt stained, her geometry box falling out of her bag and clattering onto the stones.

She turned to run, to follow the car, but a pair of strong, rough hands grabbed her shoulders. Amma pulled her back with a force that made her neck snap.

"Choro! Mujhe choro!" Eshmita wailed, her voice cracking. "Ma! Ma, kahan ho aap? Bachao mujhe!"

"Chilla mat, ladki," Amma laughed, and the sound was like a death knell. "Yahan koi Ma nahi aayegi. Yahan sirf Amma hai. Aur ab se, tum meri ho."

Eshmita looked up at the dark, crumbling buildings. She was sixteen, innocent, and terrified of strangers, and now, she was surrounded by them in a place where mercy went to die. Her silent prayer for her mother was swallowed by the loud, cruel music of the streets.

_________________________________________________

The first chapter of Eshmita: His Unspoken Prayer is finally here. 🌙

A chapter filled with silence, fear, betrayal, and the beginning of a story that will change Eshmita forever.

Did this chapter break your heart the way it broke mine while writing it? 🤍

Share your thoughts, favorite moments, and predictions below 👇🏻

I’ll be reading every single one of them.